


Mistletoe

by sulfuric



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Fluff, M/M, Pining, aka nothing new, basically thomas is a dumbass and teresa is Tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas, and Teresa is tired of her brother's endless pining (pun fully intended). Featuring a Christmas party, eggnog, and a whole shit ton of mistletoe, Teresa gets what she wants.</p><p>Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the Newmas Mini Mini Winter Bang, and some adorable art was done by the lovely [newtcrying](http://newtcrying.tumblr.com/) which can be found right [here!](http://newtcrying.tumblr.com/post/135617811830/art-for-the-newmasbigbang-mini-winter-bang)

Like most things involving Teresa, it started with the intention of getting her brother laid.

And no, it wasn’t like she got off on the thought of her brother getting some, because holy shit, that was fucked up. All she wanted was for Thomas to be happy. And Thomas’s happiness, as it seemed to have been in the last year, was directly proportional to one thing and one thing only: Newt.

Ah, Newt. How Teresa had heard about Newt. And oh, no, it wasn’t like she didn’t know him on a first person basis and wasn’t friends with him, because she was - but she was also subjected to a near-daily rehashing of all things Newt, courtesy of a one very-in-love Thomas.

And it wasn’t even an ‘I’m so in love with Newt’ kind of thing, it was a ‘wow Newt’s so funny and hot and wonderful and I notice all the little things he does and smile like the sun whenever I think of him but I’m totally not crushing on him what the fuck Teresa’ kind of thing. And of course, living with Thomas meant that Teresa was subjected to such behavior every minute of every day. It was exhausting, and annoying, and frustrating, and about a hundred other adjectives that added up to one simple thing: Thomas was in love with Newt, and Teresa had to do something about it. If not for her own sanity, for her brother’s.

Hence, the birth of the Edison Christmas Party™. Teresa herself thought it was pretty damn near perfect. Newt would be there, among the rest of their friends, of course. There would be an excess of alcohol leading to the essential letting down of both Newt and Thomas’ usually high guards. There would be the warm and fuzzy sentimentality of holidays spent with close friends. And, most importantly, there would be mistletoe. Oh, there would be mistletoe - Teresa would make absolute sure of that. And she would, [probably] barring murder, do anything to get Thomas and Newt under one of those hanging plants, one way or another.

The night was set for the 24th of December, and it was aptly and secretly named Operation Parasite (because mistletoe is a hemiparasitic plant, obviously, and also because once Thomas and Newt finally kiss once they would most likely be like parasites on each other’s faces, thinking realistically at least). Teresa was the only official in-the-know member of Operation Parasite, but the truth was that basically everyone except Thomas and Newt themselves knew that Thomas and Newt were in love and that their eventual getting together was inevitable. Though everyone knew, Teresa had decided against disclosing the details of Operation Parasite with anyone but herself. More people meant more variables, and more variables meant more that could go wrong.

And that was not a risk Teresa was willing to take. She had a plan and it was going to go perfectly, whether Thomas liked it or not.

 

Her voice came like a really annoying bird at the ass crack of dawn that doesn’t understand the concept of shutting the fuck up. “Tom!”

Thomas heaved a sigh, struggling with the box overflowing in his arms. There were tangled strings of lights, garland, and random little decorations that for whatever ungodly reason were all adorned with tiny silver bells that announced each step Thomas descended down the stairs.

“Tom!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Thomas rolled his eyes as he entered the kitchen, letting the box down on the counter with a dull _thunk_. “This was everything I could find.” he said, watching Teresa’s scrutinizing eyes.

“No.” she said, shaking her head.

“No?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” The desperation ripped through the thin patience of his voice and Thomas sat down, exhausted and defeated.

Teresa grabbed a string of lights and dropped it on the counter, looking less than impressed. “This won’t do.” she said.

“What do you-”

“Thomas, look at this.” she said, gesturing to the pitiful pile of lights. “Mom and Dad probably bought these. They’re ancient. They probably don’t even work.”

“The rest of it-”

“No, the rest of it is just as bad. I mean for god’s sake, this garland is falling apart. anymore. Do you want to bring guests into a Christmas party with crappy garland?”

“I don’t really-”

Teresa closed her eyes. “Thomas.” she said, opening her eyes and giving the contents of the box another quick once-over. “I need you to go out and buy more lights. And garland. And other stuff.”

Thomas let out another sigh and slumped in his chair, glancing to the wide glass doors leading to the back patio. It looked like a white wall. “But it’s cold.” he whined.

Teresa rolled her eyes. “You own a jacket.”

That was true. Thomas bit his lip, looking around the kitchen for anything to get him out of this. “Why don’t you go out and I do the baking?” he said, eyeing the bright red mixer.

Teresa snorted. “You and I both know that you can’t bake for shit.”

A pause. Teresa was right again, Thomas was past incompetent in the kitchen - hell, he was almost dangerous. After a batch of cookies with Newt gone wrong, both boys had been banned from Teresa and Thomas’ shared kitchen, forever. “Okay, well, how about I… I can, uh…”

“Just go. I’ll finish the baking, and we can both do the decorations when you get back.”

Thomas sighed for the third time in the span of ten minutes, dragging it out with the highest degree of exasperation he could manage. “Fine.” he said grudgingly, glaring at Teresa as he reached for his keys, laying on top of a plastic shopping bag. He stomped out of the kitchen, murmuring to himself about why the hell he had to go out and get shit if Teresa had already bought shit.

Three minutes later Thomas was shivering down the main street with his hands gripping the ice cold steering wheel and his only thought (besides how _fucking cold_ he was) was how much he hated his sister.

 

One hour, six minutes, and two trays of three different kinds of cookies (shortbread, sugar, and gingerbread) later, Teresa was ready to get to work. She would have to be quick, with Thomas due back anytime. To Teresa’s credit, she had texted him minutes after his departure with a whole list of additional decorations to pick up, all “only available” at very specific stores. Conveniently, all of the very specific stores for the very specific decorations were on opposite sides of town. But that could only buy her so much time.

She wasted no time in counting out all her mistletoe (weapons of romantic manipulation, or worms for short) and marking their future locations on her pre-printed blueprint of the property. In total, there were twenty three worms to be placed. Tape in one hand and worms in the other, Teresa hung one in each doorway of the house (ten, not including the basement), three in the kitchen, three in the living room, one in each bathroom, three in Thomas’s room, one on the front porch, and, just in case, one on the low hanging roof on the side of the house, right behind the currently bare lilac tree. Just in case. By the time she’d finished, the cookies had cooled and Teresa sat, munching on a square of shortbread, admiring her work. She had to admit the house looked a little odd with a bunch of mistletoe hanging around, but she knew her little parasites would blend in once the rest of the decorations were up.

Then, as if on cue, the front door flung open with a burst of cold air and a stream of mumbled curses.

“It’s fucking cold!” Thomas shouted into the house, slamming the door with his foot and heading right into the kitchen without bothering to take off any of his winter clothes.

“Hey Tom.” Teresa said, smiling through a mouthful of shortbread.

Thomas dropped two massive plastic bags onto the counter. “Here’s your fucking garland.” he said, hands going right for the gingerbread.

Teresa slapped his arm away. “Decorations first.”

Thomas pouted but started emptying the bags anyway, unfurling a massive coil of rich green garland. He looked around, taking in the plethora of mistletoe. Something twisted in his gut. A feeling of dread. “Looks like you already put up a bit?”

“A bit.”

 

Five hours later, Thomas was coming to realize exactly how much mistletoe there was. Everywhere he turned, there seemed to be another plant hanging from something above his head. He’d even found two of them in his _room_ when he was changing into his Christmas sweater (mandatory for the party, apparently) and he was starting to think something was up.

There was very rarely something not up in the Edison household.

There was five minutes until people were set to arrive and Thomas decided he wanted to get to the bottom of it. “Hey, Ter’,” he said lightly, drumming his fingers on the back of the couch. “don’t you think putting mistletoe in my room is a little overkill?”

Teresa smiled. It was a very particular smile, one that Thomas knew very well. One that meant that Thomas was completely and utterly fucked. “No, not really.” she said, malicious innocence glittering in her eyes. Her smile only grew.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Fuck. “Teresa, no.” he said lowly, now glaring. “No. Never gonna happen.”

She spoke calmly, an edge of almost excitement in her voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If you think this is gonna make me-”

The shrill ding of the doorbell cut Thomas off, both him and Teresa freezing at the sound. Teresa looked at Thomas and _smirked._ “Yay, people!” she cheered, artificial sugary sweetness dripping from her voice as she practically skipped over to the front door.

 

Naturally, Newt was the last to arrive. This foreseeably sent Thomas into a very badly concealed frenzy of nerves, complete with bouncing legs and long gazes at the front door.

It was kind of pathetic, really. Thomas knew that, and he hated it. He was also pretty sure that everyone else knew, and he hated that too. But Thomas just couldn’t relax knowing Newt _still_ wasn’t there after an hour. He could’ve been dead. Or worse, he could’ve just ditched the party, not wanting to come. Thomas shivered at both thoughts.

But eventually, _finally_ , Newt showed up an entire hour and three whopping minutes late. Thomas exhaled for the first time that entire day.

By the time two hours had passed, the party was in full swing. All of Thomas and Teresa’s closest friends were somewhere in their house, either laughing or drinking or recalling one dumb story or another (highlights being the time Chuck literally scared the shit out of Gally and the infamous story of Minho and Brenda’s disastrous first date). Everyone was full of Christmas cheer. Everyone except for Thomas, that is.

Thomas, in all his scatterbrained love-stricken glory, was running a high risk of actually passing out. With each step he took he could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, an alarm that screamed ‘WATCH OUT FOR SUDDEN DEATH’. Of course, the sudden death in this situation was the multitude of little green bundles hanging from the ceiling everywhere he looked. Thomas could almost feel himself starting to get a headache.

The fact that Newt was _right there_ only made things worse. He and Thomas had been curled up on one of the couches for the past hour, just the two of them talking with their knees pressed together. It was like fire exploding on Thomas’s skin, and when Newt smiled Thomas was sure that he’d never dream of smothering the flames. Thomas wasn’t even sure if he was listening to Newt’s rambling; he was too distracted by everything else - the crinkles forming around Newt’s eyes, the way he played with his fingers as he spoke, the softness of the words themselves - it was mesmerizing. Newt was mesmerizing. And he didn’t seem to notice Thomas’ blatant admiration, or if he did, he didn’t care. Thomas dared to let himself think that maybe Newt _did_ notice him and he liked it. Just maybe.

Thomas could only chew on that possibility for one second because after one second had passed, Teresa’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Thomas! Newt!” she called, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen with a mug of eggnog in hand. She was quite obviously tipsy, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Come try Fry’s fruitcake!”

Newt snorted. “Nothing good has ever come from fruitcake.” he said quietly, so only Thomas could hear.

Thomas laughed in agreement. “Yeah.” he said, immediately regretting how lame he sounded.

Teresa didn’t give up. “Come on, guys, it’s really good! You need to try some before it’s all gone!” She yelled it across the room and her eyes shot quickly from Thomas to the top of the door directly above her.

Thomas blinked. She was not drunk at all.

There was an explosion of flames on Thomas’ knee. _Newt_. “Maybe we should go try it.” he said, dark eyes piercing right through Thomas’ skin. “Make her happy.”

With Newt’s hand on his knee, Thomas could do nothing but nod and stand, almost frowning when the warmth left him. He started toward the kitchen, glaring at Teresa the entire time. He was almost through the doorway when something tugged on the back of his sleeve.

“Thomas?”

He turned immediately, looking at Newt’s outstretched arm, his fingers clinging to the fuzzy red wool of Thomas’s sweater. His heart almost stopped.

“Yeah?”

Newt’s face froze halfway between content and terrified. His eyes flickered to where his fingers were attached to Thomas and he turned as red as the sweater itself, dropping Thomas’ arm like it was covered in watery dog shit. “I, uh.” he said, dragging out the _uh_ as his eyes dropped to his elf-socked feet. “You should try the candy cane cupcakes. I made them.” he said finally.

Thomas nodded automatically, feeling his chest deflate a bit. “Yeah, sure.” he said. That was… Weird. He mentally kicked himself for letting hope get to him, even for a second. Sure, Newt has stopped underneath the mistletoe and grabbed for Thomas. Sure, he’d looked like he was going to say something else, then stopped and said something extraordinarily ordinary, sure, but that didn’t mean anything.

Still, Thomas’ heartbeats didn’t slow as he turned toward the display of food, finding Newt’s cupcakes immediately. He took a massive bite and immediately _groaned_ , freezing as he realized just how sexual he sounded. _What the fuck, Thomas_ , he thought.

Newt pressed his lips together tightly, most likely disgusted by Thomas’ sounds. Still, his lips ended up curling themselves into a small smile. “Good?” he asked, one eyebrow shooting up in amusement.

Thomas swallowed and immediately shoved another bite into his mouth. “Really good.”

Triumph bloomed on Newt’s face.

 

The night continued on in a similar fashion: Thomas and Newt practically glued together, with Teresa interrupting them periodically in increasing stages of fake intoxication, trying to get them both under a mistletoe. Thomas became more and more wired while Newt became more and more relaxed (probably due to the eggnog, but Thomas liked to imagine it was because of him. He was allowed to imagine, okay?). There were a lot of close calls where Thomas found his heart racing much too fast to be considered healthy, and somewhere around 8pm even featured Newt’s hand on Thomas’ arm and a softspoken question: _you alright, Tommy?_

The answer was obviously no, but Thomas lied anyway. He was very far from being alright, and that was all to the credit of Newt himself. Thomas didn’t know exactly why the prospect of getting caught under a mistletoe with Newt was so terrifying because god, yes, he really wanted to kiss Newt. 100% yes. But what if Newt didn’t want to kiss Thomas? What if he saw Thomas’s eager eyes and just frowned, or worse, laughed, right then and there. Humiliation. Devastation. Full emotional death.

Thomas could _not_ get caught under a mistletoe with Newt.

 

An hour and a half after Thomas had come to this grave conclusion, Newt was well into his fourth mug of eggnog and well into the giddier stage of his intoxication - but he was still far from the angry stage and the self-loathing stage, which Thomas had unfortunately experienced first hand long ago.

“Hey, Tommy, I have an idea.” Newt whispered, breath warm on Thomas’s neck. Thomas shivered. “We should build a snowman.”

Thomas almost laughed. “You wanna build a snowman?”

Newt paused for a second, then nodded. “I really do.” he said, eyes scanning the room. “But not with any of these lugs. They wouldn’t be able to build a decent snowman if their mum’s life depended on it.”

Thomas considered this, ignoring Teresa’s wiggling eyebrows from across the room. Then, Newt leaped up from the couch, leaving Thomas’s entire right side cold, like he was a building with one of the walls ripped out. By the time Thomas had pulled himself up from the couch, Newt was already at the front door, pulling his boots on. Thomas felt himself smiling and started to make his way toward Newt when someone bumped his hip.

“Hope you guys are planning on making out under the moonlight.” Teresa said, much louder than Thomas would’ve liked.

“Wanna say that any louder?”

“Oh, come on, _Tommy_ ,” she said, giggling at the frown on Thomas’ face at the (very special) nickname. “Everybody knows already.”

Thomas chose to ignore Teresa’s last statement, pushing past her and focusing on getting to Newt instead. He was waiting at the front door, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Thomas started putting on his boots, and when he looked up, his face felt like it was inside a furnace.

Newt was looking at him like he was a piece of _meat._ He was leaning on the door so that his hips were jutting out just slightly, spindly legs seeming to stretch for miles. On his face was the most confident, asshole smirk Thomas had ever seen.

It was really fucking hot.

Thomas coughed, standing up in full. “Uh, ready?” he asked, fully aware of how dumb he sounded (which was really, really dumb).

Newt hummed, sighing as he shifted his weight to stand properly. His hand rested on the door handle, turning it slowly as he looked right at Thomas.

Then he _winked._

Newt slipped through the door immediately after, leaving Thomas standing there with only enough brainpower left to keep his jaw from unhinging. _What the hell?_ By the time Thomas got out onto the porch, he’d concluded that the wink was just some kind of cruel trick his brain decided to play on him. Newt did not just wink at him.

Maybe Newt didn’t wink at him, but he was definitely standing at the edge of the porch, directly under the fourteenth mistletoe Thomas had counted that night. And that wasn’t it. To add to the intensity of Thomas’ accelerating heartbeat was Newt’s face - not to say that Newt’s face didn’t normally accelerate Thomas’ heartbeat, but holy shit, there he was, smile almost hopeful but shy at the same time as he looked at his feet, standing under the mistletoe.

Thomas’ fingers twitched (among other appendages, but we’ll leave it at that for now). “Snowman.” he stated, thanking the gods above for the absence of his normal nervous stutter. Thomas brushed by Newt right down the stairs, surprised at his own boldness as he grabbed Newt’s arm (pure electricity, even through gloved hands and coated arms) and pulled him out onto the snowy lawn.

Thomas dropped Newt’s arm and fell to his knees in the snow. Newt grunted, a noise of vague discontent, but joined Thomas on the ground anyway. He sighed. “Tommy,” he said, eyes flickering back to the porch as he spoke, “you’re one thick lug, y’know that?”

Thomas dropped the snowball he’d been forming in his hands. A mixture of terror and hope swirled inside him. “W-what?”

Newt rolled his eyes, a hand suddenly on Thomas’ thigh. His face was close - much closer than it was just a second ago, it had to be - and he looked right at Thomas, practically staring into his soul. He spoke, voice sober and full of frustration. “This entire night, I’ve-”

“Thomas? Newt?” Teresa. Fucking Teresa. She was standing in the front doorway, squinting into the dark.

Two things happened simultaneously: Newt huffed an annoyed sigh, and Thomas took a chance.

“Come on.” he whispered, grabbing Newt’s hand in his.

Newt didn’t hesitate, standing as Thomas pulled him across the lawn, away from the porch and Teresa’s calling. Once they were safely hidden and out of sight they stopped, breathing hard and pressed against the side of the house. And, as fate would have it, pressed against each other.

Thomas let out a breathless laugh, visible in the frozen air as it mingled with Newt’s own stunned exhales. Their mouths were _inches_ from each other. Thomas’ heart lept into his throat, choking out any words that he could have formed in that moment. Newt’s eyes weren’t on Thomas’ own, but lower. Thomas stopped breathing, daring to let his own gaze linger on Newt’s lips, barely parted and beautiful.

Then Newt _laughed_. He laughed, the most musical of giggles Thomas had ever heard, and he let his head fall back.

Thomas stopped breathing.

“Jesus Christ.” Newt mumbled through his laughter, taking his hands and his warmth off of Thomas’ hips. “Finally.” Thomas wasn’t sure if Newt even said it; the whisper was so low it was a wonder the sirens screaming in Thomas’ head didn’t drown it out completely.

Thomas frowned at the sudden absence of Newt’s touch, the hope in his chest turning sour. He looked at his feet, shame burning behind his eyes. _What the hell was he expecting?_

“Christ, Tommy, I’ve been trying to get you under one of these things all bloody night.”

Wait.

_What?_

Thomas looked up at Newt then, wet eyes seeing that familiar satisfied smirk. Newt placed one finger under Thomas’ chin, tilting it upwards.

Oh. _Oh._

Teresa was too fucking good.

Before Thomas could take time to consider anything else, lightning exploded on his lips.

_Finally._

 

 


End file.
